I just really enjoy the game and want the fandom to grow
-Requests are closed!-
And here are some reasons to convince you to read this book!
-These oneshots are gender neutral
-And even though the reader is in them there is no use of Y/n
-I try to...
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Pinocchio, standing in the midst of a wintry wonderland, marveled at the delicate ballet of snowflakes swirling around him. His unblinking blue eyes, reflective of a quiet wisdom acquired through unique experiences, witnessed the silent transformation of the world around him. The puppet, crafted by Geppetto's skilled hands, found solace in the gentle descent of frozen crystals, each one a masterpiece in its fleeting existence.
The ethereal beauty of the snowflakes, as they pirouetted gracefully in the cold air, was not lost on Pinocchio. Instead, he embraced the delicate touch of the tiny ice crystals against his wooden frame, understanding that this was nature's way of adorning the world in a transient white cloak. The unspoken wisdom within his gaze hinted at an awareness that these frozen creations posed no threat; rather, they were ephemeral fragments of a winter's tale.
As the snowflakes landed on Pinocchio's unyielding form, he welcomed their transient touch. Each delicate flake, destined to melt into droplets, symbolized the delicate balance between the beauty of the moment and the inevitability of change. The puppet stood as a silent observer, a participant in the dance of nature that unfolded around him.
In the puppet's contemplative gaze, one could discern a profound understanding of the cyclical nature of seasons, a recognition that even in the frosty embrace of winter, there existed a comforting rhythm. The unspoken exchange between Pinocchio and the falling snowflakes created a tableau of serenity, a moment frozen in time that whispered tales of both impermanence and enduring beauty.
Thus, amidst the softly falling snow, Pinocchio's blue eyes mirrored the tranquil acceptance of nature's metamorphosis. In that wintry sanctuary, the puppet and the ephemeral snowflakes coexisted, their silent communion weaving a narrative that transcended the boundaries of wood and ice.
The air hung heavy with anticipation as you approached Pinocchio, your breath forming ethereal wisps in the winter chill. With deliberate movements, you buttoned up a substantial coat, its fabric providing a shield against the impending cold. The weight of the coat, a tangible barrier against the frosty bite, hinted at the adventure awaiting beyond the threshold.
Turning to Pinocchio, who stood resolute in the cold, unblinking eyes reflecting a quiet readiness, you posed a question laden with shared purpose. "You ready, P?" The puppet, in response, offered a subtle nod – a gesture both affirming and understated. The symbiotic connection between creator and puppet, unspoken but understood, echoed in the crisp air.
As the two of you ventured outside, the world transformed into a winter wonderland. The snowflakes, delicate and intricate, descended from the heavens, painting the landscape in a pristine white. The crunch of snow beneath your boots marked the rhythm of the journey ahead. Pinocchio, devoid of the conventional warmth that winter attire would provide, embraced the cold with an enigmatic stoicism.
